‘We wouldn’t dream of it,’ Payne promised.
‘Poor Tancred hasn’t got an inkling. He is too decent, too trusting, the most ethical person I have ever known – though I wish he didn’t assume everybody was like him! Tancred doesn’t seem to have a safety valve. I fear it will come as a terrible blow to him when all is revealed. As it happens, I am investigating the matter at the moment.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. It is quite serious. Deception on a grand scale. Impersonation. Misrepresentation. Misinformation. You seem surprised! It’s as bad as that, yes.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I am determined to get to the very bottom of it. In fact, I have come to regard it as my duty.’
‘Have you made any interesting discoveries?’
‘I have. I believe I know now what this woman does. I also know how she does it. She – the soi-disante Miss Hope – has rented a room in a house in St John’s Wood. She arrives, carrying her disguise in a bag. She is a woman in her mid to late fifties. She emerges as elderly Miss Hope and totters her way to the Villa Byzantine. Her landlord is under the impression that she is an eccentric actress who is practising for a part! She tells Tancred all manner of preposterous stories. The mind boggles, really. For example, she has suggested that Prince Cyril and not Hitler might have been responsible for King Boris’ death! She has been hinting at fratricide!’
‘Golly.’
‘She is completely irresponsible. Once her visit is over, she returns to her rented room, removes her disguise and takes the tube back to wherever she lives. Somewhere around here, I believe. She spends her evenings poring over books which she’s got from the library – royal biographies and so on. But she has started slipping up. On one or two occasions she’s even omitted to remove her disguise.’
‘That’s how you knew, I imagine?’ The third sister, Antonia thought. She exchanged looks with Hugh.
Their hostess inclined her head. ‘Yes.’
‘Poor show,’ Payne harrumphed. ‘Jinxed, did you say? Something in that! Didn’t Vane’s other source get herself killed? The Bulgarian woman we met here last month, as a matter of fact? What was her name? Astra?’
‘Stella. She was James’ friend. That was awful, wasn’t it? She was beheaded. Poor Tancred’s drawing room might have been some sort of sacrificial ground! Incidentally, there was something about the inquest in today’s Times.’
‘Was there?’ Payne wondered whether Winifred could be trusted about anything she said. Winifred appeared highly suspicious of Miss Hope and was hoping to have her unmasked, but Winifred was Miss Hope. Was that what psychologists called disassociation? ‘What does The Times say about the inquest?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Only that it was going to take place on such-and-such a date. You are interested in murder, aren’t you? I suppose that’s why you went to the Villa Byzantine?’
‘Well, yes. Morland asked me to look into the matter… So Vane told you about my visit?’
‘Every little detail. We were on the phone for hours. Tancred tends to tell me everything. I am sure all that will change once we get married! Does your husband tell you everything?’ Winifred turned towards Antonia with an amused smile.
‘I don’t know. You’d better ask him.’
‘Hugh?’
‘Practically everything,’ said Payne solemnly. ‘I have no secrets from Antonia.’
‘How did you and Tancred meet?’ Antonia asked.
There was a crack as a log on the fire collapsed and went up in a gush of pale flame.
30
Spellbound
‘It’s one of the most remarkable stories you are ever likely to hear. I’d hesitate to describe it as a romance, though it’s that all right. I must admit I was exceedingly romantic as a girl.’ Winifred Willard gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I used to identify with Juliet – with Heloise – with Isolde! Too embarrassing for words!’
‘I bet you know Tatiana’s letter to Onegin by heart?’
‘Why, yes – Hugh, how did you-? Goodness, I do believe you have a sixth sense!’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It all started with a photo. That woman – Stella – had taken a photo of Tancred with her mobile phone camera. She wanted a memento, apparently. She showed us the photo of Tancred – it was the day James brought her here – you remember?’
‘Oh yes. Melisande’s birthday party.’
‘It is extremely difficult to explain what I felt, it was such an intensely personal experience, it was also so very extraordinary, but, as a writer, Antonia, I am sure you will understand. I hope Hugh won’t say it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard in his life?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘No. Of course not. It wouldn’t be your style. You see, till I met Tancred, I’d been leading a narrow, solitary sort of life, devoid of any significant human contacts. I kept reading books. I felt intellectually superior but I don’t think I was ever happy. I tended to indulge in melancholy introspection. The river of my existence was, as they say, sluggish. I yearned for the torrent of life, and yet I’d convinced myself that – that I’d found – how can I put it?’
‘That you’d found contentment in deprivation?’
‘Yes, Hugh! You seem to understand me so well. But then – then I saw Tancred – his photograph – his face – his smile – his eyes. That’s when – it happened. It was quite incredible. I experienced a quickening in my spirit. I felt an immense burden lift from my heart. Suddenly – suddenly I felt free. My spirit leapt out of its confines!’ Winifred threw her hands up and opened them, as though she were releasing a dove.
‘Remarkable,’ Payne said.
‘I felt as light as the proverbial feather. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if I had started levitating. And then – then there was the jubilant ringing of bells! I knew in that instant that, whatever happened, I could never go back to my old constraints and restrictions. You heard the bells, didn’t you? Well, I must say that’s the closest I have ever come to a religious conversion. I hope you won’t think it terribly peculiar of me?’
‘Not at all, dear lady. Not at all.’
‘Do you remember in Death in Venice, when Aschenbach begins to see Tadzio as a bearer of death? Well, I saw Tancred as a bearer of life. No! As life itself. You do understand, Antonia, don’t you? I am sure you do.’
‘I believe I do,’ Antonia said gravely. She did her best to keep her face expressionless. (Why did they always have to meet oddballs?)
‘I managed to engage Stella in a conversation about Tancred Vane. I believe you’d gone by then? I did it most casually,’ Winifred went on. ‘I asked how she had established contact with him and so on. She showed me the advertisement. She took it out of her bag. It was a newspaper cutting from the International Herald Tribune – royal biographer Tancred Vane seeking information about Prince Cyril of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and the Bulgarian royal family – words to that effect. Well, I knew exactly what my next action should be.’
‘You phoned him?’
‘No. I feared that might be a little too forward. I have had a very strict upbringing, you see. My father used to make me write thank-you notes to him each time he punished me! I have remained, in many ways, an old-fashioned kind of girl.’
‘You wrote to him?’
‘I sat down and wrote Tancred a letter, yes. Like Tatiana! It was a very formal missive. Stiff and uninspired.’ Winifred gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘I addressed him as “Dear Mr Vane”. Tancred wrote back by return of post. He declared himself delighted by my letter. He said he was longing to meet me. He invited me to visit him at the Villa Byzantine. He said he would be counting the hours-’
Of all the elliptic accounts, thought Antonia. What Winifred was omitting was the highly significant fact that she had written to Vane as ‘Miss Hope’, former nanny to Prince Cyril’s son, and that she had offered to share her ‘reminiscences’ with him. That of course was the only reason why he had written back by return of post and asked her to visit him at the Villa Byzantine.
